


The Story of Prisoners 01 and 02

by Froggydog



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: But mostly angst, Canon Split, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff and Angst, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gen, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Hybrids AU, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s) - Freeform, Normal boy Tommyinnit, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pandora's Vault, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sheep Hybrid Cara | CaptainPuffy, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Has a Bad Time, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggydog/pseuds/Froggydog
Summary: In Pandora's Vault, Dream's word is law.In their prison, Tommy feels right at home.In an unfamiliar place, Tubbo must escape by any means necessary. Even if that means he has to leave his best friend behind, again.(A Hybrid AU canon-divergent prison story!)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 30
Kudos: 321





	1. A Totally Normal and Uneventful Walk

**Author's Note:**

> So, essentially, this takes a very different path from canon. In this story, Tommy has his moment on the pillar, realizing that he's just being watched, but he doesn't get far afterwards. This takes place a few weeks after that.

Tubbo wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened.

The memories are fuzzy: he was out with Squeeks, his pet fox, taking a walk in the crisp early morning air just outside of L’manberg. Tubbo had been doing that more often lately, strolling along his borders, enjoying the sounds of the trees rustling, the birds chirping, the clouds above. It helped him keep perspective. After all, the problems he faced as president always  _ seemed _ to loom so large, but in the end after he and everyone else was gone, this world would still remain. The grass would still sprout and the sun would still rise, as if he had never been there at all. That thought gave him some solace.

Plus, it was said that hybrids should be out in nature more, to appease both halves of themselves. It was unfounded by science, and maybe even a little rude, but Tubbo was fine with the excuse it lent him whenever he felt the need to just  _ walk. _

He’d walked a  _ lot  _ after Tommy’s exile. A lot  _ more  _ as his letters continued to be ignored and he continued to be iced out by his former best friend. No matter. He was the president, he had to stay in shape anyways, so walking was good. It didn’t matter.

_ He misses Tommy like a ragged tear across his being, all frayed edges that never seem to heal. _

It didn’t matter.

He had stopped along his path to let Squeeks do his business, taking in the quiet, when something had rustled nearby. He glanced to his side, scanning the area as his hand hovered over his sheathed axe at his side. Swinging his eyes from the right and to the left, he waited a few seconds as the bushes along his path continued to tug in the wind innocently. He was just on a walk, but he was still a war veteran, and that had put his head on a swivel.

Though… recently, most of his startles ended up being nothing.

_ Probably a rabbit or something, _ Tubbo thought with a shrug. Squeeks had finished up with his business, kicking dirt over his waste with his back paws. They continued down the path.

Tubbo and Squeeks reached their favorite spot a few minutes later. It was a large open clearing, with tall wild grass enough to get lost in, and a felled tree to use as a bench near the middle. Tubbo unclipped Squeeks’ lead and let him trounce around, tamping down blades of grass as he took off. He was proud of the fox, knowing with certainty that after he had burned off his energy, he would return. It had taken a little while for them to build that trust. With that thought, Tubbo plucked a stick off the ground and threw it ahead of Squeeks.

A few minutes passed that way, with Tubbo sitting on the tree while Squeeks fetched. The wind had begun to die down and the fox seemed to be growing more and more tired with each throw, so he reckoned that it was almost time to finish their walk.

Squeeks had eagerly bounded back towards him, stick in his slender muzzle, and Tubbo stooped to pick it up. He waved it above the fox’s head teasingly for a few moments before he reeled his arm back again, stick in hand, and cast it out into the obscurity of the clearing.

This time, though, Squeeks didn’t move from his spot. His ears suddenly lowered, pinned to his skull, and he growled, bearing his teeth. Tubbo startled- he had never heard his fox  _ growl  _ before. His eyebrows pinched and he reached out a hand.

“What’s the matter?” he said, his tone light, when he realized that Squeeks wasn’t looking at him, but  _ above  _ him. His hand flew, and the tips of his fingers brushed up against the familiar grain of his axe, then-

It happened so fast. He whipped around, saw blurred white and green. Something made contact with his side, ice flooded his veins, he was suddenly so  _ tired,  _ and then, nothing.

The next time his consciousness was returned to him, his everything was heavy. His limbs, the clothes on his back, the blanket covering him, the air he breathed. His mouth was dry. He pried his eyes open, closing them again when the light stung them. The surface beneath him felt hard and cold, and he curled his fists against them, to find that his knuckles were sore from disuse.

_ He didn’t know where he was. He had to get up right now. Get up, get up. _

His instincts wrestled with him, and he forced his body to comply, hauling himself into a sitting position. God, everything in him begged to lay back down. He refused, shaking his head and squinting against the light as he became familiar with his surroundings.

A heavy-looking metal door, two iron barred windows, a singular light, obsidian walls, floor, and ceiling. A raised wooden bed, and one simple black blanket.

_ Some kind of cell, _ he thinks. He had been stripped of what little he had: a few spare blocks, and his compass, and even then his tie and cufflinks had also been removed from the suit he was wearing. The weariness that pulses through him stops him from being angry about it, quells the firestorm in his mind to a mild annoyance.  _ That tie was a gift from Niki,  _ he mourns.

Tubbo’s overcoat feels warm on him, so he shrugs it off and puts it on the bed beside him. The air, though stale, is a welcome feeling, and going down to one layer makes him feel less weighed down. From his time as a spy under Schlatt’s rule and in Pogtopia, he had learned a few things:

  1. Don’t panic. Get a full view of the situation first.



When he can open his eyes fully, he goes to the iron bars and peers out. There’s a long empty obsidian hallway, and as far as he stretches his hearing, he doesn’t pick up on anybody else around.  _ Good,  _ he nods to himself,  _ I’ll have more time. _

He moves to the sides of the room, running his hands along the rough stone, searching for any discrepancy in the surface. Everything seems to be solid, but he notices that the walls aren’t dusty or dirty in the slightest, meaning either someone had come in and scrubbed it top to bottom before he was placed there, or that the stonework is new.

Several times as he scours the walls he has to stop and lean on it. Drowsiness clings to him like water, but still, he presses on. Next, he goes to the wooden bed and moves it, scooting it across the room. It makes a screech as it’s dragged with incredible difficulty, and then Tubbo palms around the space it occupied. He finds nothing.

He sits down on the bed and looks upwards, forcing his sluggish mind to work. There’s no lightswitch, so the redstone light just out of his reach imbedded in the ceiling must be turned off and on from some other room, or perhaps automatically. He also didn’t see a lever or a button outside of his door, so that must also be controlled remotely.

His tie and cufflinks- they could potentially be dangerous when used in the right way, so they had been taken, too. That meant someone had the intention of either coming into the room with him or letting him out in person. That, or they’re worried that Tubbo might use them against himself, which wouldn’t make sense.

Why someone might take him is clear: he’s the president, and holding him for ransom might be profitable. Simple enough.

_ Okay, that’s progress,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ I’m at least equipped with knowledge now.  _ The thought shuts out his panic. He has to stay level-headed.

His frame sags, and another wave of heaviness presses down on him. He groans and shakes his head. He has to stay aware. He wonders if he’s been drugged, the feeling similar to when he once took a sleep aid that was too high of a dosage- he had woken up past noon and felt groggy for the rest of the day.

He leans on his elbow and his eyes drag halfway shut involuntarily, his thoughts slowing to a crawl. He drifts between sleep and half-awareness, and if asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell you how long he sat there, his eyes glazed over.

However, when he hears steps echoing from down the hall, he snaps back to awareness like a rubber band. Tubbo stands and crosses the room in two strides, peering down the hall from behind the metal bars. The metal feels cold to the touch, and his cheek pressed into it as he tried to get a clear look.

_ Dream,  _ the man, cloaked in a forest green, ivory mask covering his face. Tubbo’s lips flattened, and some naive part of him wonders if he slept through his own hostage situation if Dream was already here. Their respective countries had good relations, and he couldn’t entertain the notion that Fundy, much less Quackity, would ever reveal their plan to execute him. Plus, Dream had considerable wealth and influence, it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to pull some strings to get Tubbo released.

Another, more logical part of him, said that if that was true then it wouldn’t make sense for him to come alone. Surely, Quackity would’ve insisted he come as well. Quackity didn’t trust Dream.

He didn’t, either.

  
  


“Dream,” Tubbo called, his voice hoarse. He swallowed thickly, and wondered how many hours or days had passed since he last spoke. His hand came up to rub his neck, as if that would help the dry feeling.

Dream’s head perked, his posture neutral as he strolled through the corridor. His ease was off-putting, but that was just how Dream was, Tubbo rationalized.

When he finally came up beside Tubbo’s cell, the president tried a smile, slipping into the soft, palatable version of himself that most knew.

“Thank goodness,” Tubbo said with a sigh, “I was beginning to worry that nobody was coming to get me out of here.” he coughed out a little laugh then, “can’t catch a break, I guess.”

“True,” Dream scoffed, “how are you feeling?”

The line of conversation seemed promising. “Like crap, to be honest,” he answered. His stomach churned painfully, “I’d kill for some food and water.”

“I’d imagine,” Dream responded conversationally, as if Tubbo wasn’t locked in a jail cell, “you were out for a while.”

“How long?”

“Mmm,” Dream hummed, as if in thought, then he shrugged, “it doesn’t matter.”

Tubbo felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The answer disoriented him in time. When was the last he’d eaten? Walked? Spoke? A few days? A week? It couldn’t have been too long, right? He would’ve died without water if kept without it for long enough. He felt so out of it, though, that perhaps he  _ had  _ been given water, but he couldn’t remember it.

How long had he been away from L’manburg?

His head hurt.

“Tubbo?” Dream’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Tubbo swayed on his feet, resting his weight on his arms, “I’m here, just… tired.”

Dream didn’t miss how Tubbo’s fists tightened, how his eyes grew hazy and unfocused. He had expected more anger when he awoke, but it seemed that Tubbo was still struggling to shake the effect of the mix of potent sleeping and weakness potion that had been administered to him. Even then, Tubbo had risen from his unconsciousness much earlier than expected, and the dosage given was meant for a fully grown man, not the teen that he was. He should’ve been out of his mind with exhaustion and hunger still if not still asleep, stapled under his blanket, not standing and talking.

The blatant display of willpower brought a smile to his face. Dream liked challenges.

“I’ll go grab you some food and water,” He said, and if Tubbo had heard the grin in his voice, he didn’t indicate it.

“Yeah,” Tubbo mumured hazily.


	2. Baby Steps

When Dream returned, Tubbo was still standing, swaying in his spot, shoulders and head framed by the small barred window. He was struggling, that much was clear, but he looked up as Dream swiped some kind of card in a device hidden from Tubbo’s view.

He really, really didn’t want to believe that Dream, force of nature that he was, was the one who put him here. Some random thugs? Sure, whatever. A political opponent? Worrying, but not impossible. Technoblade? Way bigger problem, but at the end of the day, he could be reasoned and bartered with.

Dream was different. Tubbo  _ had  _ to believe that he was there to release him.

The iron door beside him clicked, so Tubbo grabbed the edge of it and swung it open, moving to leave. The hinges didn’t creak or protest.

_ A new door, then,  _ he thought.  _ Probably a new facility, considering everything. _

Dream blocked his way, the light from the hallway filtering past him in a way that made his silhouette look larger than it actually was. In his hand he held a tray. Tubbo stared up at his smiling mask, blinking as his brow furrowed.

“Could you move,” He said, motioning with his hands, “you’re kind of in the way.”

“What are you in such a rush for?” Dream asked, tilting his head slightly, “you aren’t leaving.”

Despite everything, despite the exile and the tense allyship, the secrecy pact he made with his cabinet,  _ somehow _ he must’ve found out about the planned execution. He was being held as, what, collateral? Regardless, a tense ball of dread curled in his stomach. He wasn't there to release him. His situation had just turned from frightening to catastrophic.

“I’m not asking,” Tubbo said, his polite demeanor slipping.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Dream stepped forward into his personal space, and Tubbo stepped back automatically. The door softly clicked shut behind him, but he felt as though he had just heard a bear trap snap shut.

Dream’s voice turned to condescension, “You aren’t really in a state to be making demands right now,” he gently turned Tubbo by the shoulder, then urged him towards the middle of the room with a firm push to his upper back, “so you’re gonna sit down and listen for a moment.”

Tubbo struggled to keep his balance, wishing he could put up more of a fight. “You… you  _ drugged  _ me!” he tried to turn to face him again, only to be met with more shoves, “this is a crime- people will come looking for me!”

“It was just a potion. Sit down,” Dream repeated, “you’re going to wear yourself out.”

“No-,” Tubbo started, but cut himself off when a much harsher shove caught him off guard. He stumbled forward, his hands just barely catching him on the hard planks of wood that acted as his bed. His legs hit the ground hard, and the heels of his palms stung from the shock. He sucked in a hiss through his teeth and turned, glaring daggers at the man before him as his arms strained with the effort of trying to get back up.

Seemingly unbothered, Dream set the plastic tray down on Tubbo’s bed with a dull  _ clack,  _ then sat beside it.

“After all I’ve had to put up with from you...” Tubbo spat upwards, when Dream didn’t say anything, “the exile wasn’t enough for you?”

“I’m waiting for you to sit down,” the mask smiled down at him.

Tubbo groaned with frustration. Why couldn’t his body just cooperate with what he wanted to do? The side of his leg dragged across the rough surface as he rose, his exhaustion growing.

“You _ do _ want to eat, don’t you?” Dream taunted, “I don’t have all day.” He watched Tubbo practically throw himself onto the bed with one final heave.

“Yeah yeah,” he said, his words edged with annoyance, and he turned so that his back was leaning against the wall. He felt as though he had just run three triathlons in a row, so he closed his eyes for a moment to rest.

“Food,” Dream reminded him, poking him in the arm with the tray. On it was a half a loaf of bread with a dollop of butter melting atop it, a diced up apple, and breaded chicken tenders, divided by small raised pieces of the tray. There was also a paper cup filled with water resting in a circular portion. It was all food that Tubbo liked, even down to the honey mustard that was drizzled to the side of the tenders. 

He took the tray, grabbing the cup and drinking the whole thing in a few ravenous gulps. He sighed with satisfaction as his bone-dry mouth stopped feeling so uncomfortable. As he wiped the corners of his mouth and started working on the apple slices, Dream began to speak.

“Being here is going to be an adjustment for you, so you should know a few things:” Dream began, ever neutral, “first off, nobody’s coming for you. They can look, and they can search, but even if they found this place, the walls are impenetrable. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out. I made sure of that.” He straightened up in his seat, as if proud. It made Tubbo’s heart sink. “Just thought you should know in case you got any fun ideas about escaping.”

“Second, this is a prison, a detainment facility. You step out of line, and disciplinary action will follow.” He aimed that one more sharply, “so, just be cool and don’t try anything, and you should be just fine. That one’s pretty simple.”

“Third-  _ most _ important.” He stressed each syllable, and Tubbo leaned further away out of instinct. “My word is law here. Like the last: you do as I say, and everything should be smooth sailing.”

Tubbo popped another apple slice in his mouth sourly, chewed, and swallowed. “And what do the citizens of L’manburg think of all of this, if they know yet?”

“My communicator hasn’t stopped going off since.” he carefully avoided giving a specific time frame, preferring to leave Tubbo in the dark about it.

“You’re insane if you think they won’t find a way in,” Tubbo said, words muffled by a mouthful of bread, “or that I’m actually going to listen to you.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and then, “You know, I think this can be a teachable moment, Tubbo.” Dream said, his tone a note harsher, “I’m putting you on an information diet.”

“Wait, what?” Tubbo asked, suddenly  _ very  _ aware. “What does that mean?”

“I tell you you’ll have to listen to me, you tell me you won’t,” he stated simply. “That’s rule two- stepping out of line. Since it’s your first offense, I’ll go easy on you: you just lose access to new information about L’manburg,” he shrugged, “nothing tangible this time.”

“But I’m the president,” Tubbo glared between bites of chicken tenders, “I  _ need  _ to know what’s happening in my country.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you started talking, then.”

“But-” Tubbo started, searching his mind for a compelling reason Dream might  _ want  _ to tell him information about L’manburg. Just knowing that he wouldn’t get to hear what was happening outside made him feel cooped up and antsy already.

“Careful,” Dream warned, “you don’t want to make things worse for yourself by arguing.”

“I didn’t even  _ do  _ anything,” Tubbo said, straightening out his scowl to something more neutral as he shifted conversation topics, “our countries were getting along just fine, so why now?”

Tubbo more felt the painful pressure on his head than the actual touch as Dream reached up and flicked the stubby horn that had sprouted from his head in the last few months. “Hmm, I wonder.” he mused.

Automatically, Tubbo slapped the arm away with force, bristling. His horns were still growing, they were organs with nerve endings, not just bony appendages, and he could only barely tolerate the light touches he used when styling his hair in the mornings. Having someone else flick them felt like tweaking a baby tooth that had just started coming in.

“That hurts!” Tubbo snarled, both hands coming up to hover over his head as if to guard them.

Dream’s hand instantly retracted, seeming genuinely surprised by the reaction. “Alright,” he said, “that one can be a free hit, I didn’t know.”

Tubbo began working his fingertips against his skull, kneading the base of his horn gently. The action relieved some of the pressure built up in his head. He hated the fact that he had just given up a weakness of his, and hated Dream even more for acting so nonchalant about it. If he had to choose one thing he could appreciate about Schlatt, it would be that he understood the pains of being a ram hybrid. He was the one to teach Tubbo that he could help the headaches by massaging his skull, in the context of making him more efficient, of course.

He’d take dealing with Schlatt right now over Dream in a second if given the chance. At least he could somewhat predict how the previous president would act from moment to moment. With Dream, it felt like he could go any direction with his conduct, the only consistency being that damn air of condescension he took wherever he went.

After another few quiet beats of Tubbo trying to ease his headache, he glanced back up at the taller man’s mask. “Stop staring. You’re makin’ me itch.” a thread of hybrid-centric insecurity rippled through him.

As if only to taunt him further, he stayed silent.

“Why are you even still in here?” Tubbo asked, after another suffocating moment of tense dead air, “I know the rules now, and I’ve almost finished eating. Is there anything else?”

“You want to be alone that badly?” Dream said, “Tommy  _ really  _ wanted to come see you, y’know.”

_ That  _ got his attention. He perked in his seat, a wash of conflicted, but ultimately excited, emotions flickering through him. “T-Tommy’s here?” Tubbo leaned forward to get up, to sprint to the iron bars to see if he could catch a glimpse of the boy, but a hand grabbed the back of his shirt in a pinch and sat him back down.

“You’ll hurt yourself that way,” Dream reminded, as if scolding a child. Then, as he watched Tubbo settle back against the obsidian wall, he set out his bait. “He is,” Dream assured, his voice in a promising lilt, “he made the food you just ate.”

Tubbo glanced back down at the tray in amazement, as if by looking hard enough he would be able to see Tommy in the reflection. So that explained why the entire meal was things he liked- Tommy knew his food preferences.

“ _ But, _ ” Dream’s voice deflated Tubbo like a balloon, and he stood up. “I can tell you want to be alone. I’ll let him know.” he turned to leave.

“Wait, wait!” Tubbo gasped, “I  _ do  _ wanna see him.” He didn’t care if he was revealing his hand in this strange conversation they had been having, he needed to say it.

“Do you?” he replied, skepticism lacing his words, “considering the exile, it doesn’t seem like it.”

The hot and cold treatment was pissing Tubbo off and  _ really  _ starting to take the wind out of his sails. Why tell him Tommy was there and wanting to see him if he was just going to leave?

Further, how  _ dare  _ he question Tubbo’s decision to exile when  _ Dream  _ was the one who had forced him into it in the first place? The masked man saw the irritation spark in his eyes, an amused smile creeping onto his face.

“I didn’t have a choice, you know that,” he replied, glancing to the far wall, “you were threatening my people. You held my country hostage. Exile or die, that’s not a choice at all.”

“And how did exiling work out for you in the end?” Dream replied easily, “with all that talk about loyalty from Wilbur, I expected at least  _ some  _ of it to stick.”

“ _ You _ don’t get to talk about having loyalty to your friends,” Tubbo replied with a heated edge, his eyes snapping up to Dream’s, “Sapnap and George have a lot more to say to you about that than I would. You  _ chose  _ to cut them off, I was forced to.”

The grin faltered, but didn’t slip away.

“So you’re  _ at least _ as bad as you think _ I _ am,” Dream said, forcing back his own growing irritation.

“At least I don’t make a habit of butting into other people’s lives like I’m entitled to it.” Tubbo openly kept eye contact, even though he couldn’t be sure exactly where Dream’s eyes were behind the mask. “Just that makes me better than you by miles, easily.” the president had never been the boastful type, but if the green man wanted to play ball he was going to give it his best.

“Hmm,” Dream hummed in thought, “that’s right, you’re the secretary of state for El Rapids, of course you’d know about George’s dethroning.”

A cold sweat began forming on the smaller boy’s brow at the mention of his friend’s young nation. Dream  _ should  _ be biting back at him, going another round. He felt a little more threatened by the second.

“You know,” he finally said, musing to himself, “I suppose this could be considered a declaration of war against El Rapids, locking away one of their dignitaries.”

Tubbo’s face paled. “H-hey, there’s no need for that, El Rapids has done nothing to you. This is a L’manburg thing.”

“Ah,” Dream shook his head, as though he had forgotten where he was. “Information diet, I nearly forgot.”

“You can’t punish another country for the problems you have with mine-” he saw Dream turn again, heading for the door, “wait, hold on, don’t-” Tubbo shoved himself off the seat, perhaps too suddenly, because his legs buckled and he went crashing to the floor.

Right, that whole  _ weakness  _ thing. His warm skin met punishingly with cold hard stone, his knees smarting. He was sure his elbow was bleeding, now. Dizziness came back to him with a vengeance.

The others didn’t deserve to get hurt on his behalf.

This wasn’t  _ fair. _

From the edge of his vision, he saw Dream’s shoes pause in his direction. Then, another jeer.

“Should’ve listened.” Tubbo could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.

The shoes turned back around, the light from the hall grew dimmer, and then finally, the soft  _ click  _ of the locking mechanism.

Tubbo burned with humiliation and cold dread as he trembled with the effort of getting up again.  _ Little victories,  _ he assured himself,  _ he had gotten under Dream’s skin with the comment about his friends. He’s not as aloof as he pretends to be. Little victories. _

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on getting his body to cooperate.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tubbo crawled back onto the wooden bench, collapsing into darkness as he forced himself to focus on what little he  _ could  _ do within his confines.

_ Little victories. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this earlier, but DAMN I just couldn't wrangle this chapter into something I was totally satisfied with. Oh well, thank you for reading- comments and bookmarks are appreciated, as always!


	3. Alerted

Fundy had just brewed another coffee, the mug steaming at his desk as he tried to focus on paperwork. Pens, clipboards, and sheets of parchment littered his desk, his leg bouncing as he resisted the urge to glance at the clock hanging on the wall again.

_ It’s going to be fine,  _ he assured himself,  _ Tubbo was just taking a bit longer, that’s all. Quackity was looking for him. He would be fine. Quackity was the loudest man he knew, Tubbo would be able to hear him from several biomes over. _

L’manburg had stopped being his home long ago, but he didn’t want anything to happen to the little president. Sure, he was a pushover, a weak figurehead, but he was still someone Fundy had once stood beside in war. That meant something.

So he sat and he waited for Tubbo to get back from his walk, one that was taking far, far too long. It was already noon.

He only had to wait another hour and a half to get word.

His door swung open widely, the wood shuddering against the wall as it slammed into it. Quackity looked disheveled, his soft yellow feathers ruffled and his tracksuit unzipped halfway. In his arms, he held a small fox, the lead still clipped on, one end wrapped around Quackity's hand.

“Fundy,” he started breathlessly, “Tubbo’s missing. Like,  _ gone, actually gone. _ ”

“What?” came his reply.

“I found his fox,” Quackity pushed onwards, closing the door behind him with a foot and setting the animal on the floor, “he never would have left it alone if he could help it,” he ran a hand down his face, “he’s- he’s totally gone, like, without a trace, Fundy. I even flew around a few times to see if he had fallen somewhere along the border, but… he’s just  _ gone _ .”

“Fuck…” He shook his head, coming out of his stupor, “you’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t be saying this shit if I wasn’t sure!” came Quackity’s sharp reply, his shoes squeaking as he paced back and forth. His hand anxiously brushed his forelock back. "What are we gonna do? He didn't run off on his own, he's not answering whispers, he didn't leave any note, he wouldn't have just abandoned Squeeks, he couldn't have gotten lost…"

“I’ll send out a global message.” Fundy supplied, pulling out his communicator, “it’ll help if we can assemble a search party.”

“Yeah, okay.” Quackity stopped pacing and rested his hands on Fundy’s desk, leaning his weight down on it as he listened to the light  _ click clacks  _ of the communicator.

"My god, dude," Quackity murmured, tapping his foot. He was restless. The recent threats to L'manburg weren't something he was prepared to deal with as president. He wanted power, sure, but he wanted it when it was time. And not… not like  _ this. _

There was a heavy quietness there, an atmosphere that felt hard and cold on their skin, the robust wooden scent of L'manburg never feeling more oppressive, too ambivalent to even mock. Tubbo had placed down many of the boards that made up the floor they walked on, and they never felt his absence more than at that very moment.

Squeeks nosed at Quackity's pant leg, and he glanced down at the pet curiously, before pulling his own communicator from his pocket.

**Fundy: Emergency Message- Tubbo Underscore has gone missing. Allies of L'manburg, please come to Quackity's house to begin a search.**

He hoped it sounded official enough. What with the cabinet using the duck hybrid's house as a de-facto office in lieu of a whitehouse, he hoped it wouldn't sound like some kind of weird joke. They had never had to send out an emergency alert before. He spammed it in global chat a few more times for good measure.

Quackity's lips flattened, and his thumbs started moving before he could stop himself.

**QuackityHQ: you fuckers better show up. It's important.**

They both stood in silence for a few beats, trying to see if anybody would respond in the global chat, the only sound being the soft creaking of the floorboards beneath their feet.

Finally, Fundy broke the silence, pocketing his communicator.

"Look, we're getting nothing done just sitting around here," the fox hybrid stood from his chair, "we might as well start planning the search."

Quackity nodded, reaching for a pen. "I already searched the perimeter of L'manburg and El Rapids. The next place should be Church Prime, then…" he trailed.

"Then Eret's Museum," Fundy replied, a note of distaste in his tone, "it's been rough these past few weeks. Maybe he's just there reflecting on the old times."

Quackity nodded again. "Okay, yeah. While we do that, we also look in the towers- Punz's tower, the intimidation tower…" he scribbled down the locations on scrap paper, his hands flying across the page.

"Pogtopia…" Fundy continued.

Quackity's lips flattened, his eyebrows pinching. "You don't think he ran off to see Tommy, do you?"

Fundy blinked thoughtfully, "like you said, he wouldn't have abandoned Squeeks to do that." He shook his head, "if it were some other pet, maybe. But Tubbo got him right after the exile, he loves Squeeks."

"Right, right," he agreed. "What's next?"

They went on until they had a list of locations they knew of, the clock on the wall an ever-present reminder that Tubbo could be getting further and further away with every passing minute.

Soon came a knock at the door. Fundy stood as Quackity continued listing out everything he could remember about the underground of the SMP, having retrieved a somewhat out-of-date map from a chest and murmuring to himself as he labeled places to look.

The fox hybrid crossed the room in two strides. With a breath, he opened the door, to be met with the regal air of Eret and the nervous energy of Ranboo, both sharing mirrored looks of concern.

"I came as soon as I could. Tubbo’s missing?" In their hand was a sword, ready to fight, and in their arm, a netherite helmet.

Fundy stepped out of the way. "Come in."

Around the desk, Quackity and Fundy filled Eret and Ranboo in on the situation. They nodded in understanding, and Ranboo took Squeeks into his lap to soothe the fox.

"Is it possible at all that this is some kind of hostage situation?" Eret asked, tilting their head slightly.

"No," Quackity replied, raising his head from the map, "if it were, the hostage takers would've already gotten in contact with us for their payout."

"Not that we would have much to give anyways," Fundy rolled his eyes.

Eret's worry flared, and they eyed the New L'manburg flag on the wall with a soft look. "So he probably didn't run off, and this isn't a hostage situation, and there's no way he'd get lost..."

Ranboo picked at his bangs with one hand and scratched Squeek’s chin with the other, hesitating. Finally, he spoke up. "Then what purpose would someone have for taking Tubbo?"

  
  


Pans sizzled around him, a bright melody crackling out from Tommy's communicator. The boy trounced around the industrial-looking kitchen, flipping eggs and making sure that the bacon wasn't burning.

Sure, it wasn't difficult, and sure, it wasn't the most entertaining thing in the world, but Tommy felt elated in that moment.

He wasn't just cooking for himself this morning, he was cooking for Tubbo, too! He hadn't been allowed to see Tubbo yet, or had heard how he was doing, but just knowing that they were in the same building, eating the same food, a lonely, lonely part of him was on cloud nine.

So he has a vision of a breakfast that is worth being imprisoned for. French toast that falls apart so softly, steaming bacon and sunny-side up eggs, just how Tubbo likes it.

He's been working on his cooking skills recently, one of the few things he's allowed to do. There were rules and limits, of course, to what he could make, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He'd earned the right to stop eating the slop he'd been fed for the first week in the prison with good behavior, a currency he held close to his heart now. As long as he could make it on his own with what Dream provided, he could have it. Even just a few days ago, he earned the right to music, too, just as long as he only listened to Dream-approved tunes. Neither of the songs he was allowed were Cat or Mellohi, but the other songs were fine too. Unfortunately, signal in the prison was non-existent, so music was the only use for the communicator, now.

He used to think about all these things, but not anymore. He's mostly just grateful for what he has.  He's using tongs to flip the bacon, when a voice startles him.

"Tommy."

"Oh!" Tommy fumbles to set the tongs aside, "Dream, hey!" he took a second to brush off his plain black apron, turning to face him.

Another rule Dream had instilled: whenever Tommy spoke to him, he had to face him completely, stopping whatever he's doing at the moment. It had become a habit now.

"Tubbo’s awake now, are you done?” he leaned on the doorframe casually, and Tommy wonderd how long he had been watching.

He brightened at the mention of Tubbo. “Almost! I just have to put everything on the trays now.” He pinched his chin in thought, “do you think he would want a tangerine or a banana today?”

“Tangerine.” he threw out an answer automatically, not putting thought into it. “You seem chipper,” Dream commented idly.

“I am!” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “you’ll always come first, Dream, but it gets too quiet when you can’t be here.” he paused, an odd feeling twisting in his chest.

“Food’s gonna burn,” Dream reminded him after a few seconds, giving him implicit permission to turn away to tend to it. Grabbing the pan of eggs, Tommy moved them to a cold burner, then went to the other pans.

He poked the slightly overdone but not burnt bacon onto a blue tray on the counter. With care that had only recently developed in his hands when it came to cooking, he gently slid two eggs onto Tubbo’s tray, careful to not break the yolk. He pursed his lips, rearranging the food so that the bacon and eggs formed a happy face on the square tray, then glanced back at Dream, before reaching for the fruit basket to add a big tangerine nose so that it looked more like a clown, and not his masked friend. With a burst of creativity, he tore the french toast in half and made two frowning eyebrows over the eggs. He hoped Tubbo would think it was funny.

He began to tend to his own tray, giving his own arrangement no thought as he dumped his egg over two strips of bacon, when an odd feeling curled in his chest. He cleared his throat, pointedly looking away. “Tubbo… how is he doing?” he asked.

“He’s fine,” Dream responded flatly.

“Is he scared?” the question slipped out before he could silence himself, and he fussed as he tried to excuse himself. “Not that being in here is scary, of course, but, -hah- you know how it is! I was scared at first too, but I had you here so it wasn’t so bad, b-but Tubbo thinks you’re not friendly,” he had begun to sweat, studying the floor. “I just- y’know… I worry, sorry.”

Dream let him talk himself out, never casting out a line for Tommy to save himself from his own panic at the possibility of offense. When he finally trails off, Dream had his arms crossed. “I won’t lie to you. He’s still pretty freaked out,” he watched as Tommy wilted, “you have to understand, Tubbo hasn’t been deprogrammed, not like you.”

Tommy felt a mix of sympathy and pride boil in him. He had once been full of lies too, like Tubbo. He and Dream could help him understand. He considered asking to go see him, but stopped himself. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to until Dream did a bit more work on him, ensuring he wouldn’t attack Tommy the first time they saw each other after the exile.

“Did he like my food?” he asks instead.

“He did,” Dream answered honestly, “he seemed surprised when I told him you’d made it.”

Tommy nodded in understanding, plucking a paper cup from the countertop and filling it with water from the tap. “I guess I wasn’t great at making food before.”

The only answer he gets is a dismissive hum.

“And, done.” Tommy turned with Tubbo’s tray in hand, walking it to Dream with a bounce in his step, “at least I can do this. He better come around soon, or I’m gonna start spittin’ in his food.” he joked, glancing up for a reaction.

To Tommy’s relief, Dream huffed out a chuckle as he took the tray. “He will.” he assured, ruffling Tommy’s hair with a free hand before taking the cup.

The certainty put Tommy at ease, and he laughed dryly as he ducked out from under the hand, then missed the contact as Dream pulled out his keycard and scanned it at the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tommy’s mind blanked, that odd, tugging feeling curling in his stomach again. Why was he suddenly so uneasy? Tubbo was here, he was learning how to be Tommy’s friend again, everything would be better soon.

Sometimes his head would go all... foggy. He made his way to his own tray, eating at the counter while he tried to force the thoughts away. They stressed him out, made him confused. He’d been told to focus on all of the good things he was allowed to have whenever his mind clouded over, so he grabbed his communicator and pressed the speaker to his ear and ate, closing his eyes as he drowned out the feeling with noise and eggs.

The weird feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

In another room, Tubbo sat a bit straighter as his cell door creaked open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OooOOOoooO


	4. Live Without

The night had been difficult. Tossing and turning, Tubbo found himself startling awake in his cell, panicking at his surroundings, before coming to his senses again and trying to sleep once more. Like a skipping disc, he must’ve replayed the scene at least four times, launching to consciousness before dropping back into sleep with difficulty. In what he guessed was the early hours of the morning, he gave up and simply waited for something to change.

There had been a small part of him that had hoped that he’d get to sleep for longer, but between his completely trashed circadian rhythm and the bare-bones sleeping conditions he had been provided, he supposed a restful night just wouldn’t be possible.

Tubbo spent most of his alone time listening. The prison was never silent, rumbling around him as if it were alive, and he could almost imagine it were a large cat, purring over his head and under his feet. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

In the other part of his time, he racked his brain thinking of ways to escape. For a few minutes, he had rubbed his thumb over one of the stones in the wall, then scratched at it with his nail. As soon as he tried to chip away at it, his hand had felt unnaturally weak, his muscles relaxing involuntarily.

_Mining fatigue, then. As if he hadn’t gotten enough of that when he first started draining the sea with Sam._

The staccato _tap-tap_ of footsteps brought Tubbo’s attention to the door, and he re-adjusted in his seat, straightening out his suit jacket before going to tighten his tie, only to realize he didn’t have one anymore. Instead, he settled his hands in his lap.

When the heavy iron door swung open and the same silhouette stood in front of him, he tried to school his face to a neutral expression. Now that he was fully awake, no longer under the effects of the weakness potion, he hoped this conversation would go more smoothly than the last.

“Hey,” Dream started, a tray in hand. This time, he had a grey messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hello,” he replied, then gestured to the tray, holding his hand out to accept it, “breakfast? I was getting hungry-”

Instead of handing it over, Dream crossed the room and lifted the bag from off his hip wordlessly, tossing it into Tubbo’s lap. He shifted his weight to his other leg, then grunted out, “this is for you.”

“A gift?” Tubbo asked, calloused hands hesitating before moving to snap open the clasp of the bag.

“A uniform,” Dream corrected, “It wouldn’t really fit you to be walking around in a suit, would it?”

Tubbo felt his heart twist as he drew the prisoner-style jumper out and shook it, the piece unraveling in front of him. It was a dark navy blue, a simple pressed shirt collar with short sleeves, and on the breast pocket was an embroidered patch that read ‘02’. He dropped it back into his lap, smoothing his hands over the soft material before he blinked up at Dream once more.

“So I’m getting let out of here soon?” Tubbo glanced around the room as he forced his anxiety down, “the cell, I mean.”

“Maybe,” he replied noncommittally, shrugging.

Pinching the jumpsuit between his thumbs and indexes, Tubbo hummed, inspecting the stitching. It was neat, as if done by a sewing machine. “You didn’t make this,” he phrased the question like a statement.

The masked man scoffed in mock offense, “I’m a multifaceted individual. I could’ve.”

Tubbo stared at him blankly, pressing his lips into a line.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he relented, “Awesamdude did.”

Sam was his friend, a colleague, a coworker. They had drained an ocean monument together. He always had Tubbo’s back, pushing food on him whenever he even had the slightest inkling that the young president hadn’t been feeding himself properly.

His lip curled and his brow knit. “You’re lying.”

Dream scoffed a laugh, “why would I lie about this?”

“You’re just trying to get under my skin. You scheme. That’s what you do.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, “you’re trying to get back at me for what I said yesterday about Sapnap and George. He wouldn’t help you, he’s my friend.”

“Oh, Tubbo,” he said, almost gently, as if trying to lure an animal out of hiding, “Sam helped me _build_ this prison. I didn’t even know you two were friends.” Then, amusement dancing in his voice, he shook his head. “You really never had anybody in your corner aside from Tommy, huh?”

“That’s not true,” Tubbo argued, “I have plenty of people in my cabinet.”

“Ah, yes. The people that pushed you around, used you for power,” he sounded dismissive again, “what was it you said on exile day? Your ‘merry little bandwagon of destruction’?”

“Ranboo wasn’t… he wasn’t a part of that.”

“ _Ranboo_ only stuck around because he had nowhere else to go, then hid behind you when he helped Tommy commit arson. He let you take the fall and exile Tommy.” Dream left out the fact that Ranboo was the only one trying to keep the two ex best friends connected over the course of the exile. Tubbo didn’t need to know or be reminded about that.

“Karl was in my cabinet too. He didn’t do anything, he never tried to use me.” Tubbo deflected weakly.

“True, but Karl also hasn’t asked where you are. Not this morning, not all of yesterday.”

Tubbo glanced up at that, “I don’t believe you, show me your communicator.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” there was a vicious bark of laughter above him, “I’m not giving you my communicator.”

 _It was worth a shot,_ Tubbo thought, redirecting his gaze to the floor.

  
  


After a few quiet seconds, Tubbo felt something squirm in his chest, some childish impulse worming its way through him. “You said you respected me as a leader,” He murmured, voice small.

A hand landed on Tubbo’s shoulder, and he glanced back up, the mask staring indifferently at him.

“You are no leader at all, Tubbo.” he stated it with such gravity, like a law of the universe. “Your country is a shell, your military force is a joke, and you can’t keep hold of your subordinates long enough to get a word in. And, even _with_ you there, I could’ve crushed your country within an instant.” Dream’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it deflated Tubbo.

Then, the hand was gone, and Dream sat down next to him on the bench. Tubbo’s fluffy ears drooped sadly.

“So, how are you feeling?” Dream asked, poking him in the arm with the tray.

\--

“Tubbo! Tubboooo!” Fundy called, putting a pillar in between himself and the skeleton that had been trapped in a boat sometime months ago just as an arrow sunk into it, the crack of wood making the fox hybrid cringe. The thought process for searching the docks was that perhaps Tubbo had simply tied Squeek’s lead to a pole, went to work on the unfinished harbor houses, and Squeeks had somehow broken away. It wasn’t like him to shirk responsibility like that, but Tubbo had been acting uncharacteristically ever since the exile.

“Tubbo, are you here?” Fundy weaved his way out from behind the pillar as the skeleton nocked another arrow, whizzing past his head as he ducked into the stairwell. He gasped, taking a minute to catch his breath. “This place is a death trap,” he wheezed.

If Tubbo was actively building anywhere, it wasn’t going to be in here. If he knew Tubbo at all, he knew that the young president would’ve cleared out the mobs first. He made his way to the ground floor, giving thanks to Prime for blessing him with his agile fox half that helped him keep out of danger in situations like these. He turned as he exited the house, glancing up at the structure.

The building really was beautiful, stacked several stories high with a picturesque ocean view, the salty scent of the sea wafting in through the unfinished walls as the frame gently creaked, defiant against the breeze. Something sad pinged in Fundy’s chest as he realized that nobody would love this house, not in the way people loved and longed for their own homes. Maybe, if they found Tubbo soon, he could talk to him about establishing and populating a harbor district that he could oversee. They already had the infrastructure, after all.

Taking out his communicator, he sent a message to Quackity and the rest, letting them know that the docks were clear of any sign of their president.

Fundy wasn’t the only one using their hybrid halves to their advantage in the search. Puffy had joined shortly after Ranboo and Eret, insisting on heading to El Rapids with Quackity. Her strong Ewe legs carried her up the cliff faces leading to the newer nation, tucking in and out of hidden areas. Where a normal person would fumble, she balanced innately, knowing exactly where to shift her weight and where to check for a fellow hybrid.

She was worried, of course, but a primal part of her mourned deeply. Perhaps because they were both herd animal hybrids and the fact that he was younger, she had unconsciously adopted him into her herd, and only came to the revelation when she had to restrain herself from lowering her horns and headbutting Fundy as he filled her in back at the house. That part of her was frustrated, wanting to fight to get her little lamb back but knowing that there was nothing _to_ fight, her restless energy’s only outlet being towards the search. So she perked her ears and double-checked every dark corner, grinding her teeth at every empty spot.

Quackity dove to the bottom of El Rapid’s overhang, not caring as the fresh waterfall soaked his clothes and cascaded over his wings. Luckily, Schlatt had invested in a waterproof communicator for him months ago, so he didn’t need to concern himself with the device breaking.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t radiating concern, however. He waded through the shallow stream, his calls being met with only the babble of water.

There were so many things Quackity regretted. He should’ve talked to Tubbo more to find out if he actually was alright- he’d been standing right by him during his execution, and was stupid enough to believe him when the kid told him he’d made peace with it. He should’ve considered that Tubbo was struggling with the execution more than anybody, should’ve been there when Tubbo was denied proper grieving when Ghostbur showed up, should’ve stood stong by him when he asked for peace, should’ve-

Quackity’s heart stopped when he spotted a dark patch in the cold water.

Suit jacket. Dark suit jacket, dark brown hair, black pants. That’s what made up Tubbo’s appearance. The image of Tubbo sinking to the bottom of the stream streaked through his mind without permission.

He rushed to it, water splashing around him as his heart pounded hard in his ears.

“Tubbo.” Quackity whispered shakily, as if in a daze, hands blindly reaching towards the warbled shape. His numb fingers brushed against the still form and he froze.

It’s hard. It’s not a body. It’s not Tubbo’s dead body. It’s several discarded pieces of spruce wood. Tubbo’s not there, underneath the water. Relief flooded him, air returning to him in quick pants. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath.

Pants melted into gentle sobs as he moved on further down the stream. Hot tears congealed together in Quackity’s eyes but he forced himself to keep walking.

 _What would I have done,_ Quackity’s mind supplied, _if that had really been him?_

  
  


“Tubbo!” Eret’s voice bounced around the walls of the museum as Squeeks nosed the grass around his feet. “Tubbo, are you here?!”

Ranboo teleported from inside the replica drug caravan to the top of the wall, ocean blue sparks trailing behind him. “Tubbo!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Any luck?” Eret called, taking off his glasses so that if the young president were hiding somewhere dark that he’d be more easily seen.

Eret’s milky white eyes unnerved Ranboo somewhat, but he glanced down anyways and shook his head. “No, nothing up here.” Stepping through space, he re-appeared at the king’s side.

“You’re getting really good at that.” They commented.

“I can only do it when I’m stressed out,” he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “but thanks. I’m really worried about Tubbo.”

“You’re a good friend, Ranboo. I’m sure we’ll find him.” Eret smiled, though they couldn’t help how their eyebrows pinched in concern.

Ranboo let out a breath. Even though most saw him as fully-grown, with his tall stature and deep voice, Eret seemed to understand that he still needed the reassurance of an actual adult to keep him steady, and faintly wondered if they had offered to search with him to keep him from freaking out. He was grateful.

“Where to next?” Ranboo asked, shoving back an ender murmur.

From his pocket, Eret produced a hastily scrawled list, squinting at Fundy’s loopy chicken scratch before his expression soured. “Next up is Techno’s and Phil’s place. That's going to be fun.”

“Oh? Who is that?” Ranboo tilted his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohoho, you all thought this was gonna only be about Tubbo having a bad time, eh? No no no, there's angst to go around.
> 
> Don't worry though, it won't all be doom and gloom!


	5. Hydrogen, Methane, Carbon Monoxide, Propane, Butane, Acetylene, Ethylene, Coal, or Natural?

“So, how are you feeling?” Dream asked, poking Tubbo in the arm with the tray. He really was hungry, so he took it and settled it in his lap.

Tubbo is too good, Dream thought. He believes too strongly in the idea that all people are inherently invested in others, because Tubbo can’t imagine a world where  _ he  _ isn’t willing to lay it all on the line for the people around him. Naive, Dream thought, he is naive to assume the sentiment he gives to the world is returned.

This thought was further confirmed when Tubbo took the tray, gazed down at the smile Tommy had arranged on the plate, and his facial expression softened, his ears perking ever so slightly. Like his best friend wasn’t actively rooting for Tubbo to fall to the same fate as him. Like he still had Tubbo’s best interests at heart.

It was so very amusing.

“Go on,” Dream urged, “I’m really only here to talk to you.”

With a skeptical look, Tubbo shifted away from him. “Why?”

“Why am I asking how you’re feeling?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Tubbo questioned, before clarifying, “I mean, yesterday and today, you sat and talked with me, when you didn’t have to. It’s weird- especially with what I said yesterday. Do you just  _ like  _ arguing?”

“Hmm.” Dream seemed to ponder for a moment, “no matter what you might think of me, I’m not willing to put you in solitary confinement. I’m not a monster, Tubbo.” his leg began to bounce, as if restless. “People need someone to talk to on a regular basis. Even if the only communication you have with someone else is the arguing you insist on doing with me, I’m here keeping you sane.”

Tubbo frowned at that, tentatively plucking up the still-warm french toast on his plate. It smelled really good. Bitterly, he popped it in his mouth. It was hard to believe that Tommy had made it, but somehow, the ram hybrid was sure that Dream had told the truth when he said that he had.

He huffed a breath in amazement, his ears flicking to and fro as the warm homemade bread and light spices met his tastebuds. It was like how Phil used to make, but somehow different in an indescribable way. His eyes widened, and for a split second, he was back at the dinner table, Tommy squawking at him to share his potatoes while Wilbur labored over a notebook, trying to come up with his newest song.

Then he was back, his nose wrinkling at the sound of a snicker.

“What?” Tubbo asked around his mouthful, puzzled.

“I just-” he continued to laugh under his breath, “you do that ear thing whenever you’re excited about something. It’s funny.”

Tubbo flushed red. Ear shakes were a normal response to stimulus, like surprise or joy, and being surrounded by other hybrids like Fundy, Quackity, and Ranboo for so long, he had forgotten to suppress that quirk of his.

Clearing his throat, he grinned awkwardly, stuffing the other piece into his mouth. “So, uh,” he chewed, pinning his fluffy ears back so that they wouldn’t shake, “did Tommy ask about me? He has to know I’m here if he’s making my food, right?”

Dream shook his head, “Information diet,” he responded, offering no further information.

“I thought that only applied to outside stuff, like how L’manburg is doing.” Tubbo complained, his eyebrows pinching.

“I said that it applies to anything that you don’t  _ need  _ to know.”

Tubbo was  _ sure  _ Dream had only said that he wasn’t allowed to know about how L’manburg was doing. Didn’t he? His nose wrinkled, and he tried to recall the stipulation he had been given. “No, no, I had said that I wasn’t going to follow the rules, so you said that I’d lose something intangible, it was knowing about L’manburg.”

Dream sighed, and Tubbo could hear the eyeroll in his voice. “Tubbo, I think I would know. What kind of warden would I be if I didn’t keep records of that kind of thing?”

It was true, Dream was known for being through. He never did things in half-measures, and he was smart, trapping and holding information like a vice. When put in that context, it made sense to him that maybe Tubbo had simply misremembered.

“I did just wake up a little while ago,” Tubbo reasoned, mostly to himself, “I guess I’m still a little foggy, but I’m pretty sure...”

Technoblade was having a good day. His long pink hair was tied securely out of the way of his snout as he worked at his bee farm, and the bees were familiar enough with him to know not to sting, so he didn’t have to bother with protective gear. Far away from all the conflict and war, he could live his days in relative peace.

All that mattered now was Carl, Philza, the stash of weapons he kept hidden away in a bunker, and his bees. He’d made sure of that. A ripple of quiet pride pulsed through him at the thought, the whispers in his mind dulled to a vague murmur.

Sitting back on his haunches, he drew a forearm across the sweat on his forehead. The sun was out, bleaching the arctic tundra where he lived a stark white. On the horizon, he spotted two figures making their way through the snow.

  
  


Technoblade  _ was  _ having a good day. And then Eret showed up with some nervous stranger.

Techno leaned against his storage chests, his arms crossed as a skeptical look sat on his face.

“ _Please_ , with your tracking abilities and knowledge of the land,” Eret was pleading, face looking uncharacteristically vulnerable without their glasses, “it’ll be easier to find wherever he went. He could be dying somewhere, for all we know! We need your help.”

“Nope,” Technoblade said flatly.

Ranboo hunched awkwardly in the corner, letting Eret take the lead. It didn’t seem like they were getting anywhere.

“He’s too young to be out on his own somewhere, you know that. Would you let him die just because he’s the president?” Eret was pressing.

“Yep.” Techno was holding strong. “Down with the government.”

Ranboo wanted to leave. He wasn’t sure why Eret thought this Technoblade guy would be so crucial to the search- he didn’t seem very cooperative in the first place. Then again, something told him that this wasn’t  _ just  _ about Tubbo being missing.

“Tubbo isn’t a government!”

“Tubbo’s the president of one. Same thing.”

Eret’s nose wrinkled, “you can’t put that aside for him?”

“Put what aside? My ideals?” Techno scoffed, shifting his weight to the other hip, “he re-built that country- that monument to  _ restriction  _ after Wilbur and I got rid of it. It’s honestly unforgivable.”

Something in Eret’s demeanor shifted. “You wouldn’t know much about  _ forgiveness,  _ would you?” he shook his head as he turned towards the door. “I guess I’m asking too much of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Techno's posture stiffened.

"You're so blinded by what you _want_ that you can't even take a second to think about what you're saying," Eret's voice grew more hostile by the second, tension cracking in the air, "you'd let Tubbo, the one who forgave you without a second thought when you-" he winced, shaking his head, as though his hostility had been snuffed out. "You know what, I'm wasting my time here." grabbing hold of the handle, the king made his exit, two boorish eyes burning holes into the back of his skull.

Shutting the door behind him, Ranboo shuddered as the cool air once again met his skin. Eret’s head hung low.

“Eret…?” Ranboo said hesitantly as they began to walk again, “What was that all about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: All of the things listed in the chapter title are gas lighting fuels :)


End file.
